


And by Borrow, I Mean Steal

by tamerofdarkstars



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: (kind of), 5 Times, Domestic Fluff, F/M, How many tropes can i fit in this one fic, Post-Tales From The Borderlands, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, i'm just now realizing that there isn't a single 'getting into rhys' pants' joke in this entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 12:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14402235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamerofdarkstars/pseuds/tamerofdarkstars
Summary: It's not Fiona's fault she keeps ruining her clothes while she's roaming Pandora hunting for Vaults, but she's also totally not going to give Rhys' jacket back unless he makes her.aka"the clothes sharing fic"





	1. The Caravan, the Purple Skag, and the Abandoned House

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom is criminally lacking in domestic fluff for these two so here we go. Also, I take some liberties involving buttons and their placement on jackets that are outside canon costume design - so sorry about that. Pretend there are buttons.

Fiona woke with a jerk as the Caravan rumbled over a bump. The temperature had dropped considerably as they’d passed seemingly overnight through the desert and into the middle of this never-ending swirling blizzard.

The lights in the Caravan were dimmed, the flashes of sky outside the window murky dark with the night time cloud cover. Occasionally, the moon flickered into view between the storm clouds and revealed weak light against the grey-pale flurries of thick snow.

Fiona reached up to rub at her eyes and realized with surprise that she was under some kind of… blanket?

She sat up and studied the fabric in her lap – an unfamiliar grey fabric, expensive-feeling under her fingers. She rubbed it between her pointer finger and thumb, tentatively testing the quality, before it hit her what exactly it was.

Fiona turned and looked around the dimly lit living space. The robots were nowhere in sight – they didn’t feel cold, or need to sleep, so they spent most of their time up above in the crow’s nest when it was time for the humans to power down so they could continue to chat. Athena was snoozing across from Fiona, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her chin dropped forward onto her chest, her arms crossed as though even in sleep, she was irritated at where she found herself.

Vaughn was unconscious on the other sectional, his venom-stiffened body rigid against the fabric. His eyes were staring blankly and Fiona was pretty sure he was sleeping, even if he didn’t look it.

Or he’d died in the middle of the night. One of the two.

Eh, he was probably fine.

Fiona looked up to the cockpit and spotted her sister, awake and leaning against the console. She had her arms folded across her chest and a disbelieving smirk on her face and Fiona felt a swift twist somewhere in her chest. Sasha looked relaxed, despite their situation. She looked almost amused, really amused, like when her eyes crinkled and she couldn’t bite back her grin no matter how hard she tried. Fiona spent most of her life trying to coax that grin out of her baby sister as often as she could. It wasn’t much of a life they had, but damn it, she was _trying_.

Rhys was driving, and if Fiona listened she could just hear the soft murmur of his tenor over the rumble of the engine and the whistle of the winter wind. He was telling Sasha a story, and as Fiona watched he lifted a hand up off the wheel and waved it, trying to emphasize a point, and Sasha smothered a giggle.

Fiona looked down at the fabric in her lap again, suddenly feeling like she was intruding on something private. Then she looked up again, unable to stop herself. Rhys had turned to pout at Sasha, taking his eyes off the road and the moonlight threw his profile into sharp relief.

He wasn’t wearing his vest and Fiona’s fingers curled into the fabric.

She pressed her lips together, irritated. Why had he _done_ that? It was a vest. It was a pretty pathetic blanket just based on sheer fabric size alone. Just because it was high quality fabric and warm and soft…

But Rhys didn’t even _like_ her. And she didn’t like him. He was everything that she hated about the corporations that made her planet such a hellish place to live. And he was such a pompous asshole. At least Vaughn was tolerable. Rhys was arrogant, cocky, sarcastic…

Fiona un-clenched her fist from the fabric of the vest and smoothed out the wrinkles.

Up front, Sasha’s voice cut through the lower rumble of the engines. “Alright, shoo, I think it’s time we switched.”

“I’m fine,” Rhys protested and Fiona quickly jerked back down onto the sofa, yanking the vest up to her chin.

She stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell she was actually doing. Who cared if they knew she was awake?

“I don’t think so. Can’t trust corporate scum, after all. Who knows if you’re telling the truth?”

“Oh yeah,” Rhys grumbled. “Because my plan is to drive the entire Caravan off a cliff in a snowstorm, killing us all instantly.”

“See?” There was some shuffling and Fiona knew Sasha had won. “Go get some sleep.”

“Fine. Don’t drive us off a cliff. I don’t want to be over there thinking I gave you ideas.”

Fiona very carefully didn’t move as Rhys’ footsteps came closer, further away from the noise of the engines. They paused somewhere a few feet back from her head and Fiona heard Rhys sigh softly.

“You better be ok, buddy,” he mumbled, too low Fiona was sure for Sasha to hear. For anyone to hear, if she hadn’t been awake.

Vaughn, of course, didn’t answer and Rhys sighed again. His footsteps came a bit closer and Fiona snapped her eyes shut, forcing herself not to tense.

There was a rustle of fabric and then Rhys grunted softly, settling himself down somewhere near where Vaughn was propped up. She opened her eyes, just a bit, and shifted as carefully as she could so she could see.

He’d settled down on the floor against Vaughn’s couch, lying on his back with his flesh and blood arm pillowing his head, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. From this angle, Fiona could see the uneven hem on the hole in his shirt he’d made for his prosthetic and wondered if he needed to cut the sleeves off all his shirts. She wondered if he’d been in some kind of accident or if Hyperion had decided to upgrade their employee and removed his arm for him.

She wondered if he’d tell her if she asked.

Fiona reminded herself sharply that she couldn’t trust him. Rhys or Vaughn, for that matter. They had their own agenda. Which was fine, because so did she. A few weeks of driving and card games didn’t change that. Sasha was the only thing that mattered. Sasha, and getting their chance to catch a ride off this crummy planet for good.

Fiona huffed and snuggled down further into Rhys’ vest, pretending the weird ache in her chest was due to the cold pressing down on the Caravan from the storm.

Across from her, Athena’s eyes were open and Fiona met them, freezing in place. Athena looked between Fiona to Rhys and then back again, her expression carefully neutral.

Fiona scowled and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t need judgment from a hired mercenary that Felix had hired to follow them around and probably kill them.

The vest was pretty damn warm, though, she had to admit.

She might not give it back. Well, not right away, anyway.

+++

The Purple Skag wasn’t quite as busy as usual, but the regulars were all there. Fiona lounged back in the booth she typically occupied when she dropped in on Sasha and August, scanning the room. There was that drunk guy who always seemed to be passed out on the stickiest table in the corner. The sad guy who came in just to order a drink and then stare into it moodily without saying a word.

The jukebox in the corner continued to play a soft, albeit sort of scratchy, rendition of some song that Fiona was pretty sure she’d caught Vaughn humming the previous week. She raised her glass to her lips.

After all that, with the Vault and the battle and Gortys, the Purple Skag still stood strong.

Sasha was wiping down the counter, bobbing her head to the beat of the song, and as Fiona watched, she whisked the empty glass away from one of the moody guys up at the bar and refilled it, dropping it back off in front of him as she made a second pass down the bar with the rag.

She seemed to be happy. Fiona was glad – she’d watched them closely, the first couple of months after they’d gotten back together, but August had been nothing but adamant about their second chance, and it was clear now to Fiona how much he loved her sister in his own, slightly awkward and prickly way.

She wondered if Sasha ever noticed how August looked at her when her back was turned.

Fiona took another gulp of her drink, wincing at the bitter taste, and resisted the urge to check the time. She’d said nine, sure, but who knew what kind of nonsense was going on at the Atlas building. Plus, she’d been early.

She glanced at the bar again and saw that Sasha was leaning with her elbows on the bar, grinning at her. “Chill out, Fi, he’ll be here.”

“I wasn’t checking the time,” Fiona protested, reaching up and adjusting her hat down, only to grow irritated and shove it back again, scratching at her hairline under the brim.

“Sure you weren’t,” Sasha said airily, bending beneath the bar. She emerged a few seconds later with a bottle and another glass, stepping around the bar and dropping into the seat opposite her sister. She topped off Fiona’s glass and then filled her own. Sasha put the bottle down on the table and raised her glass. “To men being idiots,” she said and Fiona clinked it with a wry smile.

The sisters drank.

Sasha put her glass down with a grin. “What’re you guys doing tonight anyway?”

Fiona shrugged one shoulder. “Just following a lead I saw on a bounty board. Something about some old Hyperion stuff, so I figured who better to ask?”

The grin didn’t fade from Sasha’s face – if anything, it grew wider. “And it had nothing to do with seeing Rhys again.”

Fiona huffed. “What? That’s ridiculous.”

Sasha rolled her eyes, reaching out and patting Fiona’s hand.

“Quit it.”

“Hey!”

The girls looked up in unison to find Rhys himself standing at the edge of the table. There was mud splattered all up his pant legs and he looked wiped out.

“Hey,” Sasha said, surprised. “You look like shit. Did you get mugged?”

“Oh, gee, thanks ever so much, Sasha.” Rhys dropped onto the bench beside Fiona and she studied the side of his face. “No, I did not get mugged. I can deal just fine with muggers, thank you very much.”

“Uh huh. Sure you can.”

“Something wrong at Atlas?” Fiona asked and he shrugged one shoulder.

“Yeah. No. Kind of? I won’t bore you guys with the details. It’s not the kind of issue that can be shot.” He eyed the bottle in Sasha’s hand and she shoved it across the table at him. He took it and she stood up to grab him a glass. He turned the bottle over in his hand to read the label.

“Are you sure? I can totally shoot someone for you.”

That brought a smile to his face and he glanced sideways at her. “And I do appreciate that, you trigger happy weirdo.” There was nothing but affection in his voice and Fiona looked away abruptly, taking a drink to hide her own grin.

Sasha returned, plunking a clean glass onto the table in front of Rhys, and he poured himself a drink. “Thanks,” he said to her, taking a sip and wincing. “Yikes. What is this, isopropanol?”

Sasha shrugged. “The patrons like it,” she said with a grin and Rhys rolled his eyes.

“August distills this like, out back in a bucket, doesn’t he?”

“How dare you just announce trade secrets to the bar like that.”

Rhys snickered and took another sip of his drink, the same mildly disgusted expression flashing across his face as he put the glass back down. “Ugh. Anyway, sorry I’m late.”

Sasha put her head in her hands, a wicked grin growing on her face. “Oh, it’s fine. Fiona was just worried you were standing her up.”

“I was _not_ ,” Fiona said instantly, scowling at Sasha, who grinned even wider at the defensive tone in her sister’s voice.

“She kept checking the time,” Sasha said in a sing-song, “to see if it had stopped.”

“You are the worst. I’m disowning you.”

“I--” Rhys began, interrupting their bickering, and then stopped when both girls turned to look at them. “Uh, sorry. I hope you weren’t waiting on me.”

Thrown by what appeared to be a sincere apology, Fiona blinked. “No, I… no. I figured you got held up at work.”

Rhys made a face. “Trust me, not by choice,” he grumbled, lifting the glass to his lips again. He paused before taking a sip, staring off into space, clearly thinking about whatever spreadsheet or budget meeting had dared to hold him up at the office.

Fiona reached up, tugging at the brim of her hat again. It was new – a “congratulations on filling your first contract without dying, I guess” present from Athena, and Fiona was absolutely loving it, except for the horrible tendency it had to rub against her hairline. She probably just had to break it in – the fabric was stiff with newness – but for the moment, it itched like crazy.

Up at the bar, one of the drunks slammed his hand suddenly on the tabletop, then slammed it twice more. “”s my cup empty?” he demanded, slurring his words, and Sasha rolled her eyes.

“Excuse me,” she said with a little mock bow, then headed for the bar. “Yeah, yeah, simmer down, I hear you.”

Fiona watched Sasha grab the drunk’s glass away from him, effortlessly peeling his fingers off the glassware and turning away to fill it up, absentmindedly scratching under the brim of her new hat again. Suddenly, the hat started rising up off her head.

“Hey!” she protested as Rhys plucked her hat away from her, an amused expression on his face.

“New hat?” he asked, flipping it upside down so he could peer inside. “Or did you get some sort of lice infestation?” Fiona tried to snatch the hat back but he leaned away, using his height to lift it up and out of her reach with a grin.

“Rhys,” Fiona complained. “Give it back. Yes, it’s a new hat. It was a gift from Athena. It’s nice, but...”

“You’ve been messing with it all night,” Rhys finished for her. He flipped the hat upside down again and put it on his own head, tracing his fingers along the brim in an over-dramatic gesture. “How do I look?”

“Like an idiot,” Fiona said automatically. It was a lie – he looked perfectly fine in her hat, but the thing was it was _her_ hat and…

Well. It was her hat.

“Aw, you’re mean, Fiona,” Rhys sighed, reaching up to scratch at his forehead. “Although, you’re right about this hat, the brim is itchy as hell.”

She hadn’t meant to be mean. She’d meant it as… well, as a joke. Teasing. Embarrassment flickered in her chest, and she bit the inside of her cheek.

Rhys reached up to take her hat off, but Fiona reached up and caught his wrist before she could fully think the action through. “Sorry,” she said quickly, releasing his wrist and grabbing her glass, taking a long gulp.

Rhys studied her for a moment before slowly lowering his arm, the hat sitting crookedly on his head. “You have hat hair,” he informed her, reaching over and ruffling her hair gently. Fiona scowled at him and batted at his hand, which he playfully slapped back at her.

“So what did you need, anyway? I’m assuming you didn’t ask me to meet you for the pleasure of my company,” Rhys said. He picked up his glass, appeared to think better of it, and gingerly put it back down on the knife-scarred tabletop.

“How do you know?” Fiona asked, reaching for her Echo. “Maybe I just--”

With a jolt, she realized that she’d been about to tell Rhys, to his face, that she’d _missed_ him and she snapped her mouth shut so quickly she nearly bit her tongue. Rhys raised an eyebrow at her, clearly confused, but Fiona ignored him, plunking the battered Echo she’d found on the table.

“I found this,” she said, a little too loudly. “It’s some old Hyperion research logs, I think. I couldn’t make much sense of it, and figured who better to ask than a soulless corporate robot like you?”

“That’s Mister Soulless Corporate Robot to you,” Rhys said, mercifully letting the conversation change course, and scooted a bit closer to her so he could press play on the recording. He listened intently for a few seconds, bending his head close so he could hear over the noise of the bar. Fiona leaned in too, trying to listen even though she’d already heard it and knew that the babble of dry technical data was completely incomprehensible to her.

“Fiona, where the hell did you find this?” Rhys began, turning to look at her. But in his intent listening, he hadn’t noticed her lean in closer to listen too, and he misjudged their distance. Their heads collided with a thunk and they recoiled back from each other, Rhys’ hand flying to his forehead.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, a sheepish expression crossing his face. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” Fiona said, rubbing her forehead. “Sorry.”

Rhys leaned in and for a wild, terrifying moment, Fiona thought he was actually going to--

But no, he reached for her instead, his fingers bumping hers aside and touching the place where they’d collided. “No bruise,” he announced. “I think you’ll live.” He smiled at her from under the brim of her hat, eyes creasing at the corners.

Something across the room broke, then, the sound of shattering glass effectively shattering the moment, and Rhys and Fiona jerked apart, Rhys’ fingers leaving her face to reach up and scratch at his head where the brim of Fiona’s hat rubbed against the skin. August was bent half over, picking up shards of broken glass from the bar floor, as Sasha scowled at him.

“Damn it, babe,” Sasha sighed, loud enough for Fiona to hear her. August shot her a dirty look and Fiona realized that she hadn’t even noticed August come back into the bar. Had she and Rhys really been that wrapped up in each other?

Fiona met Sasha’s eyes, and Sasha half-shrugged apologetically. _Sorry_ , she mouthed and Fiona couldn’t find it in her to protest at the implications. But it wasn’t like she and Rhys had even been doing anything. They were _working_. What was it Rhys had said? It wasn’t like she’d asked him there for his company?

Would he have even come by just to see her?

Probably not.

But then, he’d leaned in to check her forehead and she’d thought for a wild and exhilarating moment that he was about to try to kiss her.

Had… had she wanted him to?

She was confused, on edge now, hyper-aware of Rhys scratching at the brim of her stupid hat.

“Will you just take that stupid thing off?” Fiona snapped, her embarrassment morphing into frustration, and Rhys’ fingers stilled. He plucked the hat off his head and put it down on the table, reaching up and raking his fingers through his hair.

“Sorry,” he said shortly. He reached for the Echo, dragging it towards him across the table. “Here, let me take this with me. I’ll send you what I find over EchoNet tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Fiona grabbed her drink and tipped it back, draining the rest in one deep swallow. The alcohol burned going down and she barely resisted coughing as she put the glass back down with a thump. She frowned at the glass, trying to ignore the pang in her stomach. She was out of excuses – there wasn’t a good way to stop him from leaving short of asking him to stay.

Rhys dug a few bills out of his pocket and dropped them on the table, standing up. “Take care of yourself, Fiona,” he said quietly. She looked up at him, surprised again by the sincerity in his voice, but before she could say anything he turning away.

“Outta here, Sash,” Rhys said, waving at her.

Sasha raised a hand. “Don’t steal too many souls at work tomorrow!” she called and Rhys laughed.

“Don’t shoot too many of your clientele,” he shot back, and Sasha flipped him off merrily. Rhys nodded at August, who nodded back, pushing himself up off the floor with a grunt where he’d been gathering up the bigger chunks of broken glass.

Fiona watched him go until he’d left the bar, gingerly stepping around a passed out drunk on the doorstep. Then she sighed and dropped her face into her hands with a groan.

“You two are the biggest idiots I’ve ever met, you know that?” August asked. There was a light thwacking sound and August made an offended noise. “What, you want me to lie to her?” he asked and Fiona heard Sasha hiss something under her breath.

She lifted her head and grabbed Rhys’ half-finished drink. Someone might as well drink it after all. She raised the glass to her lips and paused, eyeing the hat on the table.

Suddenly, Fiona sort of wanted to burn it.

+++

They were all covered in mud and grime, sure, but Fiona’d been the one to get completely drenched in muck. Which was just her luck. The others had escaped practically unscathed and here she was, covered in wet smelly… whatever it was.

She winced, feeling ooze seep down the back of her shirt and settle in the small of her back.

“You stink, Fi,” Sasha said, wrinkling her nose and stepping another step away. Fiona scowled at her.

The little house they’d found themselves in had clearly been abandoned for ages – ramshackle and listing to one side, it was covered in dust and the breeze leaked in through broken windows. But it was contained, it was dry, and it would do for the night.

Vaughn was in the next room of the tiny house, one of only two on the ground floor, examining the sagging sofa with trepidation. “How many mites and ticks do you guys think are living in this? Ten? Fifty? A billion?”

“Quit whining, Vaughn,” Rhys said with a groan. He planted his hands in the small of his back and leaned backwards, cracking his spine. “At least we’re out of the weather.”

“True. I’m assuming it’s too much to hope for that the water still works in this place?” Vaughn reached up to adjust his glasses, peering past Rhys and Sasha into the dark kitchen. Sasha walked to the sink and turned the knob. The pipes gave a gurgling heaving attempt at dispelling water before giving up with a sickly sounding squelch.

“Well, I guess that answers that,” Rhys mumbled. He headed for the couch, flopping down into it with another groan. “My feet are killing me. We’re using a Catch-a-Ride tomorrow. I’ll pay as long as anyone who isn’t Sasha drives.”

“Ass,” Sasha said. She eyed the sagging staircase. “I’m gonna check out the upstairs.”

“Be careful,” Rhys and Fiona chorused. Fiona shot Rhys a look and he raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? The stairs look rickety!”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine, guys. Vaughn, come check this out with me. You know. To protect me from the dangerous stairs.”

“How is me going with you going to protect--”

“Vaughn!”

“Alright, geez, fine, I’m coming.”

Vaughn brushed past Fiona as he headed for the stairs. He paused in place, sniffing the air, then turned slowly to look at her.

“Not a word,” she snapped, reaching up and plucking her hat off her head. It was wet and heavy, the brim sagging sadly under the weight of the muck. She gave it a little shake and Vaughn stepped swiftly away, dodging the droplets. He headed up the stairs after Sasha. After a moment, the boards creaked over their heads.

Rhys examined the ceiling. “At least they’re not falling through the floor.” He turned his gaze to Fiona. “Are you alright?”

“Physically? Sure. Will I ever get over this stink? Probably not.” Fiona looked down at herself, wrinkling her nose. “I would kill a man for a shower. I wouldn’t even feel that bad about it.”

Rhys frowned a little and pushed up off the couch. He crossed the little living room, but halted before he got too close.

“Yeesh. They weren’t kidding, Fiona, you really do stink.”

Fiona scowled at him. “Thanks, Rhys, just what every girl wants to hear.”

“Well, I mean, can you smell yourself? I can’t be pointing out anything you didn’t already know.”

“Quite well! Thank you! Now kindly shut up!” Fiona tried to scrub some of the muck off her face with her equally muddy sleeve. It was starting to dry and was cracking off her skin in little flakes. “Ugh.”

Rhys sighed and began to unbutton his jacket. Fiona paused in the middle of scratching some of the dried mud off her neck. “Rhys? What are you doing?”

Rhys arched an eyebrow at her, continuing to unbutton his jacket. It was black, crisp and tailored, and was emblazoned on the sleeves with the Atlas logo in a subtle gray stitching. “Take your jacket off.”

“Excuse me?” Fiona snapped, unable to stop the rush of color pooling in her cheeks. “If you think--”

“Oh, come on. Do you see a bottle of wine anywhere? I can smell you from across the room.” Rhys slid the jacket off his shoulders. Underneath he was wearing a plain white undershirt, thin from years of wear. The sleeve was cut off at the shoulder to accommodate his robotic prosthetic. Fiona’s eyes went first to the scar where metal met flesh, then to Rhys’ neck, where his tattoos looked crisper somehow against the soft white cotton shirt, dipping down beneath his collar.

He held his jacket out to her. “Here. This is at least cleaner than yours. We can try and knock some of the mud off of yours when it dries.”

Fiona stared at the jacket for a second, then two. Then two more. “Um.”

“Come on.” He shook the jacket a little bit. “You can’t want to stay in that.”

Fiona looked up, past the jacket, and was surprised to see the beginnings of a ruddy red creeping up his neck. She raised an eyebrow. “A bottle of wine?”

Rhys scowled at her. “I’m trying to do something nice here.”

“Is that your whole seduction technique?” She reached up and popped the first button of her own jacket, just below her chest, and it felt like the scrape of metal against cloth was deafening. Rhys took a second to answer, his eyes fixed somewhere over her left shoulder.

“Doing nice things?”

“Bottles of wine.”

Fiona popped another button, then another. _Don’t be stupid_ , she told herself. _It’s just Rhys._

The last button popped free and she shrugged the jacket off her shoulders, wincing as the muck that hadn’t crusted onto it squelched unpleasantly. She peeled it off the rest of the way and turned away from Rhys, giving it a quick shake in the direction of the kitchen. Mud splattered onto the floor and after a quick glance around the room, she hung it to dry on the stair banister.

When she turned back around, Rhys was studying the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world. She smirked, just a little. “You can look, Rhys, that’s all that’s coming off. You’re not that lucky.”

Rhys’ gaze dropped to her again and the smile he gave her was a bit sheepish. He held out his jacket without a word and this time she took it. It was heavier than she’d expected, the fabric soft beneath her fingers.

“Just so you know,” he said, “I try a little harder than just a bottle of wine.”

“So two bottles of wine.” Fiona slipped the jacket on, sticking her arms through the sleeves. It was still warm from Rhys’ body and the fabric smelled like that cologne he insisted on wearing. The sleeves fell past her wrists and she spent a few seconds trying to push them up before giving up and just letting them hang long. Rhys was so much taller than her that his jacket was almost ridiculously large, but Fiona had to admit that it was cleaner and warmer than her other one.

She looked up at Rhys, who was staring at her with a strange expression on his face. “What are you staring at?”

Rhys cleared his throat. “You’ve got, uh, mud. Here.” He pointed to his own face and Fiona reached up to scrub at her cheek with the sleeve of Rhys’ jacket.

“Good?”

“No, here, let me...” he trailed off, stepping in closer and before either of them could react, his hand was cupping her cheek, thumb brushing at the dirt caked onto her skin.

Fiona froze. Her heart stuttered against her rib cage, her breath catching in her throat. For an achingly long moment that either lasted a second or an hour, Fiona wasn’t quite sure which, they stood there, suspended in the moment.

Then Rhys was stepping away, suddenly, his hand jerking back from her skin as though she’d burned him.

“Think I got it!” he squeaked, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. The blush had crawled its way further up his neck now, settling in his cheeks, where it glowed hot. “Is, uh, is that better?”

“Huh?” Fiona said. Her brain was slowly heaving itself back to life, the beginnings of a realization settling into place that she was pretty sure she should have figured out ages ago, but had been too stubborn to consider.

“The jacket.”

“Oh! Uh, yeah. It’s better. Thanks.”

“Good! Good. Uh. Yeah. No problem.”

They stood in awkward silence for a second, the few feet separating them feeling like miles. Fiona tugged the jacket closer around her, burrowing inside it. It really was much warmer. And drier.

“Hey, Fiona?”

She glanced up at Rhys.

He flashed her a grin. “Did you know you have mud in your hair?”

That startled a laugh out of her and suddenly the awkward tension in the room was gone. “You’re an ass,” Fiona said, but even she could tell the words didn’t have any heat behind them.

“Oi!”

Fiona and Rhys turned in unison towards the stairs. Vaughn was peering down at them, hanging on the rickety banister apparently completely unconcerned about the possibility of it cracking in half. “Guess what Sasha--” He paused, looking from Rhys to Fiona and then back again. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “You know what? I’m not even gonna ask.”

Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. “What did Sasha do?”

Vaughn grinned. “She found bedrooms! We’re sleeping on actual mattresses tonight, my friends.”

Fiona perked up at the thought. They’d been roughing it for a little under a week. It would be nice to actually lie down on a bed.

“Oh, this is the best day ever. Thank you, creepy mystery abandoned swamp house!” Rhys declared, putting a hand on the nearest wall and immediately jerking it away. “Oh, god, that’s slimy.” He wiped his hand on his pants, wrinkling his nose. Fiona grinned at him.

“Dibs on the least disgusting mattress!” she said and darted past Vaughn to race up the stairs.

“Hey! That’s no fair! You’re the most disgusting out of all of us! Hey!”


	2. Or We Could... Share?

Rhys’ apartment was absolutely nothing like Fiona had expected. She’d expected something clinical – something more like what she’d seen of the office spaces up on Helios, if she was being honest, but that was just because she hadn’t had anything to compare the idea to. She couldn’t picture Rhys in the cramped little apartment she’d shared with Sasha, after all, or in the little place they’d once shared with Felix.

But this place had a cozy, lived-in feeling. A large screen dominated one wall, and bits and parts of something vaguely mechanical were scattered across the coffee table. A dirty mug with the Atlas logo emblazoned on one side sat on the counter beside the sink and there was a large map of Pandora pinned to the other side of the room.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Uh, make yourself at home.” He was half-bent over behind her, tugging his loafers off. His socks were bright purple with little stars and planets on them.

Fiona couldn’t stop staring at them. Exhaustion had crept up on her, and she felt like if she sat down right there on the floor, she might never get up again. Rhys frowned a bit, straightening up after he’d stacked his shoes neatly against the wall.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” With effort, Fiona lifted her eyes from Rhys’ socked feet. “It’s been a long day.”

“I bet.” Rhys stepped around her and headed for the kitchen. “Seriously, Fiona, what were you thinking? What were you going to do, spend the night in the desert?”

“We’ve done it before,” Fiona protested, bending down and mechanically tugging her shoes off. She set them on the floor beside Rhys’ and looked for a second, at their shoes lined up neatly together. The sight made something in the pit of her stomach twist, just a bit, and she shook her head.

_Get it together, girl_.

“Yeah, but we were also being kidnapped by a robot in disguise and dragged towards what we thought was our inevitable doom while being forced to play Scheherazade and trying not to scream ourselves hoarse at each other.” Rhys opened a cabinet and pulled down a clean mug. “Not exactly a winning scenario.”

Fiona stood awkwardly in the living room, arms folded uncomfortably across her chest. It felt strange to be standing in Rhys’ space like this. He’d always been the one to be thrown into her life – to have it be the other way around was… weird.

Rhys paused, his hand on his refrigerator door. “Seriously, Fiona, sit down before you fall down.”

“I’m...” Fiona paused, thinking through her words. “I don’t want to get dirt on your couch?”

Rhys stared at her. “Fiona. Let me reassure you that I care far more about you not collapsing in my living room than I do about my stupid couch.”

Fiona shrugged and dropped heavily onto the couch, groaning softly as she tipped her head back, shutting her eyes. Her whole body hurt, the result of her stupid decision to head out into the desert by herself chasing down a lead, followed by crashing her vehicle and stranding herself miles from the nearest Fast Travel station. Luckily Rhys had been working late and had been awake to answer her message.

And now she was here, on his couch, in his home, and he was wearing socks with little galaxies on them.

The soft domestic sounds of Rhys puttering around the kitchen filtered into her mind, painting light music notes over her exhaustion. The faucet turned on, then shut back off again. There was the clink of a spoon against ceramic, a soft clatter.

Footsteps, muffled against the carpet, come closer.

“Hey. Sit up and drink this.”

Fiona made a soft noise of protest. She didn’t want to sit up. She wanted to stay right where she was, thank you very much.

“Fiona, seriously, you’ll be royally pissed if you sleep with your neck like that.”

She didn’t move.

“Come ooooon,” Rhys said from somewhere to her right. “I made hot chocolate?”

That got her attention and Fiona pried her eyes open to see Rhys squatting down in front of her, a dark green mug in his hand.

“You made hot chocolate,” she repeated, staring at the mug. He shrugged one shoulder.

“It’s what I always make after I’ve had a shitty day? Look, don’t laugh at me, ok, just sit up and take this. It’s burning the crap out of my hand.”

Fiona pushed herself up and took the mug. There was a chip in the handle and when she turned to study it, she caught the engraving on the side.

JUNIOR OFF-WORLD HACKATHON

There was a little symbol of a keyboard etched below the words.

“Junior hackathon?”

Rhys cleared his throat. “I was eleven? It was fun. Shut up.”

Fiona smiled into the drink and took a tentative sip. The chocolate was sweet and warm, burning down her throat and settling in her chest. She groaned appreciatively.

“Rhys, holy shit. This is amazing.”

“You are welcome. Feel special. I don’t just make my hot chocolate for everyone, you know.” Rhys grinned and stood back up, dusting invisible lint off his pants. “Vaughn’ll freak when he finds out. He’s been bugging me to make it for weeks.”

Fiona took another sip. “I would kill a man if it meant you’d keep making me this,” she said seriously and Rhys snorted.

“You don’t have to kill anyone, Fiona, you just have to ask.”

Fiona paused, the mug halfway to her lips, peering at Rhys over the top of it. Rhys seemed to consider his words again and Fiona watched as something embarrassed crossed his face. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’m gonna go find you something to sleep in.”

He was across the living room and disappearing down a hallway before Fiona could formulate a response. A smile spread across her face, warmth that had nothing to do with the hot chocolate twisting in her chest.

There was something wildly terrifying about being here, but then, Fiona’d stepped off that cliff when she’d brought up her HUD after her Light Runner had caught on fire and Rhys’ name had been the one she’d selected. She could have called anyone. But she’d called him.

She took another sip of hot chocolate.

“Damn, this is actually really good.” She peered into the mug, startled to find the drink already half- gone.

“Hey.” Rhys was standing at the entrance to the hall, a bundle of clothes in his arms. “As nice as my couch is, I can promise you my bed is a lot nicer.”

There was a pause.

“That’s not what I meant,” Rhys said quickly as Fiona burst out laughing. She stood up off the couch, the mug still warm in her hand.

“It’s not!” he protested, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Quit taking all my words out of context. I’m a lot smoother than you’re making me out to be.”

“You forget I’ve had a conversation with you before,” Fiona said. He handed her the bundle – a pair of sweatpants, worn and washed so many times that whatever they’d once said up the leg had worn away to nothing, and a plain black t-shirt. Rhys gestured behind him.

“Bathroom’s there. There’s a clean towel if you want to shower. Bedroom’s there – bed’s all yours.”

Fiona opened her mouth to protest, a strange twist of guilt curling inside her. It wasn’t even a weekend – Rhys probably had to go into the Atlas offices in the morning, or whatever it was he did, and here she was, drinking his cocoa and stealing his bed.

But Rhys read her expression immediately and he was already shaking his head. “I’ve gotta go into work early anyway. R&D wants to explain to me again why they think it’s a good idea to spend fifty-seven percent of their quarterly budget buying coffee machines for the labs. This way I’m not waking you up when I get up at the unholy break of dawn to tell my scientists they can have one new machine, not ten.”

He had this grin on his face as he spoke, this tiny little ruefully affectionate thing, and as Fiona watched him shake his head at the sheer audacity of caffeine-deprived scientific professionals, she realized, maybe truly for the first time, that not only did Rhys love this whole corporate business thing, but he was actually pretty good at it.

She smiled, unable to stop herself. “You really like this whole corporate thing, don’t you?”

Rhys shrugged, a bit awkwardly, the rueful smile not quite faded. “I know you and Sasha don’t really get it, but I’m kind of living out a dream here with this Atlas thing. And after Hyperion… well, I’m trying to do it right this time.”

“No… no, I get it.” Fiona drained the last of the hot chocolate and Rhys held out his hand for the mug.

“Here.” He took it from her. “I’ll get changed while you’re in the bathroom. Then you can have the bedroom.”

And maybe it was the late hour, or the small smile on Rhys’ face that still had yet to fade, or maybe it was the warm soft clothes in her arms that smelled like Rhys. Or maybe it was the hot chocolate, or the nervous butterflies that hadn’t stopped flapping against Fiona’s rib cage since the moment Rhys had answered her Echo.

Whatever it was, Fiona went and opened her dumb, stupid mouth.

“Oh, just shut up and go in there. I think we can probably share for a night without killing each other.”

Rhys went still for a moment, fingers tight around the mug. “Share?”

Fiona shrugged, trying to pretend like this was no big deal. Trying to pretend like every nerve in her body hadn’t just electrified all at once. “Maybe your scientists can have two machines if you go in there tomorrow well-rested.”

Rhys blinked, surprised, and then he laughed, a soft helpless noise. “Alright. You got me there,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me just go put this in the sink.”

He headed down the hallway, leaving Fiona standing there, the clothes loose in her arms.

Then she turned on her heel, stepping into the bedroom quickly. It was smaller and cozy-looking, with a large bed that took up most of the room. She dropped the stack of clothes onto the comforter, trying not to take in too many details, but it was like her eyes couldn’t stop catching on each and every tiny thing.

The bed was only halfheartedly made, like Rhys had tossed the edge of the navy blue comforter at his pillows as he’d dragged himself towards the bathroom. The side table was cluttered with a lamp, a stack of Echos and, of all things, a screwdriver. There was a walk-in closet in the corner, the door hanging open. Inside Fiona could see a dresser, the second drawer sagging open, spilling clothes out of its top, and rows and rows of hangers. She tore her eyes away and grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt, yanking up and ripping it off in one jerky motion.

She changed as quickly as she could, dropping the dirty clothes onto the floor and kicking them off to the side, then immediately feeling guilty and stooping to gather them all up. She folded them into a little pile and placed them at the end of the bed. Then she pulled on Rhys’ clothes and stepped back into the hall. She could hear the water running in the kitchen and wondered if Rhys was washing out the few dishes she’d seen in the sink.

Was he avoiding going to bed? Or just giving her a modicum of privacy?

Fiona didn’t know, but he’d said he’d left a clean towel for her in the bathroom. She tried a door, discovered it to be a linen closet packed with cardboard boxes, labeled in Rhys’ weirdly neat handwriting.

OLD STUFF, said one. The one on top of it said, THROW AWAY IF YOU MOVE AGAIN WITHOUT OPENING.

Fiona closed the closet and tried the next door, relieved when she found it to be the bathroom.

There was a red towel folded neatly on top of the toilet. Fiona shut the door behind her, looking up and catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She looked exhausted. Dark circles ringed beneath her eyes. Rhys’ t-shirt was baggy on her, his cutoff sleeve exposing one of her freckled shoulders and as she lifted a finger and poked at her own cheek, the sweatpants slipped lower on her hips and she hiked them back up with a scowl.

Fiona looked at the shower. Should she? Probably. It would be quick and she was not exactly clean after her desert escapades.

She stripped Rhys’ clothes off and hopped into the shower, dancing awkwardly for a minute as the spray blasted down, freezing before slowly heating up to a tolerable temperature. She scrubbed her hair and body, feeling weirdly awkward and exposed.

_Don’t think about the fact that he’s been naked in here_ , she thought, and immediately wanted to slap herself.

She got out of the shower in a cloud of steam, feeling unsettled but clean, and being clean always automatically improved her mood by about forty thousand percent. She dressed again, raking her fingers through her damp hair, and headed for the bedroom.

Rhys glanced up when she came through the door. He was sitting on the side of the bed with the cluttered side table, propped up against a pillow, reading something on one of the Echos. He’d changed into a plain t-shirt and loose shorts, legs crossed at the ankles. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile when he saw her and it hit Fiona all at once, in a warm tidal wave that swept through her stomach and settled in her chest.

_Oh no,_ she thought.

“Hope you’re alright with that side,” Rhys said, setting the Echo on the side table and sitting up. “Because even if you’re not it’s the one you’re getting.” He tugged the pillow down, seemingly oblivious to the mental chaos pumping through Fiona’s blood. Because this place felt good. It felt right to come through the door warm and comfortable and clean and find Rhys waiting for her.

Fiona _wanted_ this. And that was completely and utterly terrifying.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she said, after a pause that had gone on a split second too long. She walked around the edge of the bed and pulled back the comforter, climbing into bed. Rhys flipped the lamp off and the room fell into hazy darkness. They spent a few moment getting themselves situated. Fiona was hyper-aware of every dip in the mattress that Rhys was causing, even as he grumbled and huffed as he organized himself under the sheets, just like she’d seen him do out in the desert with Loader Bot, when he’d eventually just given up and passed out in an unconscious sprawl in the sand.

“Hope you don’t snore,” she said, trying to alleviate the smothering tension that had settled in her chest.

Rhys snorted. “I don’t, but I know for a fact that you do, so don’t be surprised if you’re on the floor in the morning.”

“That’s it, I’m stealing all the blankets.”

“You’ll have to fight me for them.”

Fiona snickered and Rhys finally seemed to settle on a position, sprawling out on his back with one arm up behind his head before huffing quietly and rolling onto his side.

“Hey, Rhys?”

His movements stopped. “Yeah?”

Fiona stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. “Thanks. For this.”

“Hey.” There was some more shifting and Fiona got the vague impression that Rhys was propping himself up on one elbow. “You can always call me. You know that, right?”

Fiona turned her head, squinting at the shadow-blurred Rhys shape. “Yeah.”

“It’s ok. You can tell me I’m your hero. Don’t gotta hide it, Fiona, I already know.”

She smirked in the darkness, snorting softly. “Ass.”

She couldn’t see him, but she was pretty sure Rhys was grinning. There was silence for a beat, then two. Then Rhys shifted slowly backwards, lying back down. Fiona pressed her lips together, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Good night,” she whispered, and rolled to her side, her back to Rhys.

“Night, Fi,” Rhys murmured back.

+++

Fiona woke slowly to music filtering into her dreams. She stretched languidly, groaning into the pillow, and tried to bury her head underneath the soft fabric for just a few more minutes of sleep when abruptly she realized that this did not feel like her bed.

She opened her eyes, taking in with some confusion the rumpled other side of the bed, the unfamiliar slant of morning light on the walls, the cluttered side table, and remembered.

She was in Rhys’ bed. In his apartment.

She sat up in bed uncertainly, letting the blanket pool down around her waist, and reached up to rub at her eye with the back of her hand.

She could hear sounds filtering in from the kitchen – the clatter of dishware, the running of the faucet. A few snatches of music over the hum of everything else.

Carefully, Fiona got out of bed, her bare toes chilly on the floor and headed down the hall.

Rhys was standing with his back to her, cooking something on the stove top. He hadn’t changed out of his pajamas, and Fiona stared for a few long seconds, trying to figure out why that felt wrong. Hadn’t he had to go into the office this morning? Something about… coffee machines and scientists?

Rhys was singing along to the music coming out of the small radio on the counter, bobbing his head in time to the beat, and a rush of hot affection bubbled up, wrapping itself around Fiona’s heart, and she smiled.

This ridiculous man with his socks and his business cards and his finger guns was the biggest dork Fiona had ever met and somehow she’d gone and fallen in love with him.

Her throat closed as the realization of just how deep into this she was seeped through her blood, freezing her breath in her lungs. She had to tell him. Did she? No, of course not. She could never tell him.

They were friends. He’d never…

Fiona thought about the Purple Skag, when he’d stolen her hat and checked her forehead for bruises. About the abandoned house when he’d wrapped her in his jacket and she’d thought he was going to kiss her. About the Caravan, way back before they’d even really begun to trust each other, when he’d left her his vest. Last night, when he’d answered her message and given her clean clothes and a place to sleep.

Maybe he would. Maybe she’d been an idiot.

She stepped further into the living room. “You’re not at work.”

Rhys yelped in surprise, jumping and just barely keeping the pan he was stirring on the stove top. “Hey! You’re up.”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

Rhys gestured to one of the bar stools tucked up against the counter and Fiona tugged it out, sitting. Rhys’ shirt was too big across her shoulders and kept slipping down her shoulder and she hiked it back irritably.

Rhys put an empty mug down in front of her. “Coffee?” he asked and when she nodded he pulled the pot from where it was warming on a hot plate and poured her a mug. Fiona curled her fingers around the warm ceramic but didn’t take a sip.

“Rhys,” she said again and Rhys turned back to the stove, giving the pan a jostle. Whatever was in there smelled fantastic and Fiona craned her neck despite herself to try and see around him.

“Figured I’d work from home today,” Rhys said, his words far more casual than the tone implied. Fiona studied the back of his head, the tension in his shoulders, and took a thoughtful sip of coffee.

“What about the scientists?”

Rhys reached up above the stove and pulled a small jar out of the overhead cupboard, shaking it generously over the pan. “I let the head of the my research division take the meeting. Figured I didn’t actually need to be present to send a message that reminded her of the quarterly budget restrictions.”

Fiona took another sip and Rhys glanced at her over his shoulder. “Plus,” he said, a little awkwardly, “I... might have sent a suggested budget revision this morning. That included some facilities management.”

Fiona grinned at him. “Oh, you giant softie. How early did you get up to work on that?”

“Don’t ask. I’ve been up for what feels like years.”

Fiona looked into the coffee mug in her hands as if she could divine the meaning of the universe from the dark drink. “So why didn’t you just go in?”

Rhys was quiet for a long moment, reaching up and plucking two plates from the cupboard. He turned towards her, carrying the pan, and spooned a helping of some sort of breakfast hash onto the plate. It smelled incredible and Fiona was momentarily diverted by the sight of food.

“I...” Rhys began and Fiona glanced up, a fork halfway to her mouth, to see Rhys studying the counter top as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. She lowered the fork, watching him.

“I woke up,” he said quietly, “and looked over and you were… there.”

Fiona frowned a little, confused. Of course she’d still been there. Was he asking her to leave? But he’d just made breakfast.

“You were there,” Rhys said again. He tapped a pointer finger restlessly on the counter, his own plate of food untouched. “And the idea of leaving was… I mean, I didn’t… shit.”

He scowled, reaching up and dragging his metal hand down his face in exasperation. Finally, he looked down at her.

“Fiona, listen.”

“I’ve been listening.”

“No, you haven’t,” Rhys said, suddenly frustrated, and Fiona raised an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t been listening. I’ve been trying to tell you for _months_ and you just--”

“Rhys, slow down,” Fiona said, putting down the fork. She slid off the bar stool, walking around the counter to join him in the kitchen and reaching out, she took hold of his wrist, forcing him to turn around and look at her. “You’re losing it. Tell me what?”

Rhys looked at her for a long moment and beneath her fingers, Fiona could feel his pulse climb and climb and climb. Then with his free hand he reached for her, curling gentle metal fingers against her jaw and tipping her head up.

Adrenaline swept through Fiona’s blood at dizzying speeds. _Oh_.

He dipped his head, then paused. “Fiona,” Rhys whispered hoarsely, “if you don’t--”

But Fiona didn’t give him a chance to verbalize whatever doubt was currently shrieking inside his head. She dropped his wrist, reaching up with both hands, and tugged his face down to meet hers, screwing her eyes shut at the last second to try and counteract the desperate thudding of her heart.

Rhys made a soft startled noise and the next thing Fiona knew he had both arms around her and was clutching her close, one hand snaking its way up into her hair, and she was scrambling to cling to him, curling her fingers into his shirt for some purchase.

_We’re idiots_ , Fiona thought wildly over the roaring in her ears, _we could have been doing this months ago_.

Rhys broke the kiss first, gasping in a way that made it clear he’d been holding out on breathing until the last minute. He rested his forehead against hers, his hand still cupping the back of her head.

“Um,” he said and Fiona started to laugh, helpless to stop.

“Alright,” she said, head spinning. She couldn’t stop grinning and as Rhys lifted his head to look at her properly, she saw that he didn’t seem to be able to stop either. “Ok, so maybe we’re idiots.”

“We’re _so dumb_ ,” Rhys said fervently, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “So dumb, oh my god. Literally, the dumbest.”

“You’ve been trying to say something for months,” Fiona said faintly, each and every moment playing behind her eyelids in vivid slow motion. “What was I _doing_?”

Rhys shook his head. “I woke up this morning,” he said in a rush, “and looked over and you were the best thing I’d ever seen. I didn’t want to leave. I called in so I didn’t have to. I started stress making omelets but couldn’t stop destroying them so it turned into hash instead. You were drooling all over my pillow and I couldn’t stop staring and oh, geez, that sounded creepy, wait, let me back up--”

But Fiona was laughing again, delirious with the way Rhys’ kiss seemed to linger, tingling against her skin. “In case,” she said, suddenly unable to look at him, despite the grin she couldn’t seem to force away, “it wasn’t obvious, I, uh, feel the same.”

Rhys grinned widely and Fiona slapped at his chest with absolutely zero force behind it. “Oh, shut up,” she grumbled.

“Make me,” Rhys said with a grin, and she went up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Can we eat now?” she asked. “I’m starving and I think your food is getting cold.”

Rhys glanced at the plates lying abandoned on the counter. “Hm. You’re probably right.”

Fiona released him and reluctantly they separated to return to their breakfasts.

Rhys took a bite of breakfast, chewing thoughtfully. “You know,” he said, swallowing and pointing his fork at her, “that Vaughn and Sasha are going to laugh at us for the next forty years.”

Fiona took a moment to reply, too busy eating. “I,” she declared, “do not give a single damn.”

Rhys ducked his head, grinning into his eggs.

“Besides,” Fiona continued, “they’ve already been laughing at us behind our backs pretty much since we opened the Vault. We don’t even have to tell them.”

Rhys’ head snapped up, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Fiona.”

“No,” she said immediately.

“Fiona, it’ll be so funny.”

“No, Rhys.”

He pouted and Fiona picked up her mug, taking a sip of the now lukewarm coffee. “Besides,” she said, going for casual and missing it by about a mile, “I want to see the looks on their faces when they realize that we can just kiss now in front of them whenever we want.”

Rhys stared at her for a second, lips parted in surprise. Then he put down his fork with a clink, walked around the counter, took her face gently between his hands and kissed her softly.

Fiona let her fork drop to the plate, eyes fluttering closed as she reached up and curled her hand around the back of his neck.

“I just realized,” he said quietly, something serious in his voice, “that I can do that. That I can look at you and want to kiss you and just...”

Fiona felt her cheeks heat. “Have you… do you want to do that...” she trailed off, unsure what she was really asking, but Rhys caught her gaze and held it steadily.

“Since you gave me my shoe back on the Caravan, I knew I was in trouble,” he said and Fiona stared at him.

“Rhys,” she said, helpless, and he shrugged. “That was forever ago.”

“It took me a little bit to screw up some courage, I’ll admit.”

“So at the Vault… you said you were interested in someone else...”

He snorted. “What, was that not clear? I thought I was being obvious. I gave you my sexy face and everything.”

Fiona burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, your what?”

Rhys was grinning, the corners of his eyes crinkling, mismatched eyes dancing in amusement. “Were you not seduced?”

“Not even a little bit,” Fiona said.

Rhys stepped in a bit closer, gently tugging her closer until he’d gotten his arms around her shoulders, his lips against her hairline. “I know I drive you crazy,” he said softly into her hair. “And I know we argue all the time. And I know that I did a lot of stupid things that nearly got us and people we love killed.”

“You’re really selling it, Rhys,” Fiona said, unable to bite back the joke. It was a reflex – her mouth seemed to run faster with the increase to her heartbeat. And right now, her heart was positively sprinting.

She felt Rhys’ mouth twitch against her head and knew she’d made him grin. “But despite all that,” he said, “I… really want to give this a chance. If you want to.”

Fiona lifted her head, pulling back enough so that she could see him. The moment felt heavy and important – one of those moments that the entire rest of her life hung on, swinging on a decision.

But then, there wasn’t much of a decision to make.

“Hey,” she said, reaching up and trailing a piece of hair out of his eyes. He hadn’t gelled his hair yet, she realized, and it was longer than she’d thought. How many things about this brilliant man would she get to discover? “It’s like you said, isn’t it? Better together.”

Rhys’ smile was blinding.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”


End file.
